Autumn brings with it a terrible stirring of longing and need. I can’t put my finger on it. It creates restlessness, but also acceptance. We love autumn. We love the strange new taste in the air. We love the foreign magic washing over us. Pumpkins and coffee abound. Sweaters cover T-shirts and sneakers track mud and leaves.

During these months, I struggle with that “empty inspiration” I’ve spoken of in the past. I have great visions of long tables covered in meats, sweets, and fresh baked bread. Wine lingers in the air and music dances energetically. Friends get together for the final days, and no one speaks of the end. Everyone is welcome, but you get a sense not everyone is safe. There’s something more to these dark wood elves. They’re nothing like the fairies, and you realize there’s likely both good and evil in these gatherings.

That’s why we come back, I suppose. There’s mystery and excitement. It’s in every adventurer’s bones to dance with danger.

I would love to write this story, but every time I sit down the vision fades. It’s my ghost, and maybe it doesn’t want to be shared. It can’t be captured on paper. So year by year I sit in the yard beneath the shifting sun and dream. I dream of places I wish to see.

This has been,



It’s a Sly, Old World

It creeps up on you, this feeling.

As the sun worshippers parade around in their ceremonial tank tops and flip flops, you’re not entirely sure what you believe. You feel like you’re standing on a precipice. You look out and view the land – colors, movement, emotions.

And what the worshippers don’t want you to see, don’t want you to realize, is that the sun is shining a little less bright each day. Now comes the time of the winds, and the clouds, and the rain; colors – bright exotic beautiful colors – a final, glamorous display asking forgiveness for what may – no, inevitably, will come.

Then your heart realizes what it is that creeps and sweeps across the land in all its artistic inevibility.


Your feet are a little lighter. You don’t mind the rain. You don’t mind the darkness in the morning or the late evening. You start to dream of fields, orchards, and firesides: dry, crisp winds carrying a feeling of intangibility.

This old, revolving world isn’t so bad. The winter wasn’t so harsh. Summer wasn’t so short. You look forward to Autumn because you realize at the end of these days the change is inevitable. Can’t stop it, stall it, start it over. The best efforts you can give is to embrace it, or ignore it. But whoever said ignorance is bliss when you’re really missing out on such a bright, bold, beautiful world as this?

Welcome back, my friends. It has been a long season. A glorious, wonderful season of life.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin


Tea, Autumn, and NaNoWriMo

It’s officially November, friends. Here in the midwest, we are enjoying crisp, autumn days with fiery displays of color on the trees. It might rain one day. It might be a glorious sunny day perfect for sweatshirts and hot tea.

This year for NaNo, I’m struggling to feel committed to my word count (to writing at all, really). I’ve taken to finishing knit and crochet projects as procrastination. I should be really inspired. This is the time of year to take off in a glory of feathered words and fly across the pages. Sadly, such is not the case.

My writing buddy for the year suggested a relaxed NaNo–breaking the rules a bit. In her mathematical genius, she said we should write 417 words a day…because that would be exactly a quarter of the traditional NaNo. I’m about 30 words shy of that on Day Two.

Hey, can I count my blog?

I have a volleyball game tonight, then I’ll curl up in my bed with a good notebook and get to work. One friend recommended writing before bed as a way to curb my insomnia. After about an hour, it actually works. 😉 So my first NaNo year, I wrote every morning at 6:30. This year I’ll write every night at 10:30. Wish me worthy writing.

Here’s my recipe for you:
First thing we make you feel better
Next stop, we pull it all together
I’ll keep you warm like a sweater
Take my hand and hold on forever  -Rob Thomas

Fanny T Crispin